


The Butterfly Etude (aka The piano competition)

by novera_nope



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) - Fandom, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Charles-centric, Classical Music, Erik Has Feelings, M/M, Panic Attacks, Shaw is a teacher, Work In Progress, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novera_nope/pseuds/novera_nope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is quite taken with the talented new student in his piano class. But with the upcoming competition, things are bound to get complicated. </p><p>  <i>"What I mean," Shaw spat, "is that you and Erik are my top students. I got you enrolled in the Clara competition, for god's sake! I need you two to focus, not fool around like a couple of hormonal teenagers!" </i></p><p>   <i>Then he grinned. "Are you sure you can trust him, Charles?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The new student

As long as he could remember, Charles had been playing the piano. 

When he was only a toddler, he had already hauled himself up onto the dusty piano stool whenever nobody was looking – which was, admittedly, more often than not – and had started pounding away on the black and white keys. 

The sounds they produced had intrigued him endlessly. When he’d hit the lowest notes, he’d almost cringed, imagining the thunder; when he’d hit the highest notes, he could almost feel a light summer rain on his face.

As he grew older, he’d instinctively started imitating the melodies of songs he’d picked up, and soon he was actually playing his own music. From the first, modest little piece he’d composed himself, he’d started _living_ for the instrument. 

At the age of six, when he had been forced to go to school (thus having to leave the piano alone for most of the day, much to his dismay), he’d discovered that for him, learning to read and write was much, much harder than learning how to play. 

While Charles’ father had been rather proud of Charles’ talent, his mother hadn’t cared very much. So, although the Xavier family certainly had the money to afford a Steinway grand piano, there was only the old, dingy upright piano, which was slightly out of tune – the top G even sounded like an E-flat. 

Charles loved the instrument to bits, though, and when, later, his stepfather had threatened to burn the damn thing because ‘the noise was driving him insane’, Charles had actually given the man the pleasure of seeing him cry and beg. He’d never wished more that his father were still alive. 

At the age of twelve Charles had finally convinced his mother to let him go to the local music school on Friday evenings (he _might_ have taken advantage of one of her drunken states to get her to sign the application). The first time his fingers had actually touched the keys of the shiny black Yamaha the music school owned, had been _magic_. Charles had been rapt. 

Piano lessons had turned out to be much, much harder than he’d expected, though. His talent was obvious – and recognized by his teacher, Mr Shaw –, but he lacked technique and he’d never before had to read sheet music. It was frustrating, not being able to do some of the simple things the other students had long before mastered. 

What he lacked in technique, though, Charles made up for in intelligence and enthusiasm. He worked hard – with his stepfather out of the house mostly these days, he was able to play through the night without disturbing anyone in the giant mansion – and by the age of fifteen, he was the best of his class. 

Until the new student arrived, that was. 

***

That Friday, Charles had been held up by his history teacher about his abominable essay on the civil war. When he had finally parked his bicycle and ran into the hallway of the music school, sweating and swearing, he heard Bach’s fugue in E major coming from his usual classroom. What the hell? 

None of his friends was playing Bach at the moment – and furthermore, nor Raven, nor Hank played like this. Charles entered the room as silently as was possible and took the nearest seat quickly. 

Behind the Yamaha was, indeed, a boy he had never seen before. He was slightly older than Charles – 18, maybe – and he was sitting ramrod stiff at the piano, hardly making any movement while he was playing. Upon Charles’ entrance, the boy’s eyes flicked towards him briefly, but soon his attention was back on the sheet of music and the last sequence of the fugue. To his credit, he didn’t falter even the slightest bit. 

When the music had stopped, Mr Shaw nodded. “Good, Erik. On to your study piece.” 

He looked at Charles briefly. “Oh, and Charles, so nice of you to join us.” He winked amicably. 

Charles had the grace to blush. “Sorry, Sir,” he mumbled. Then he looked at the boy – Erik. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

“You didn’t,” Erik stated simply, and then he started playing again. 

The tempo he set for the next piece made Charles’ mouth drop open. The Etudes from Chopin were known to be technically challenging, yet Erik was switching between the octaves with an ease and speed that Charles hadn’t thought possible. It was beautiful to watch as the boy’s hands seemed to fly across the piano keys. 

It was, however, _not_ beautiful to listen to, in Charles’ opinion. Technically the performance was close to perfect, but musically… How could someone play in a manner so completely devoid of emotion? In the Etudes, the musical line was supposed to sing. And in this one in particular, the melody was supposed to be floating happily above the supporting notes – it was called ‘the butterfly étude’ for a _reason_. Yet Erik played every single note equally heavy, making the performance rather… flat. 

Charles looked at the boy’s strange, straight posture. It was almost as if he was actually _trying_ not to let any emotion shine through his music, constantly keeping himself in check. It intrigued Charles immensely. 

With his last piece, though, Erik proved himself quite capable of showing emotion after all. 

_Rachmaninoff_. While Erik was thundering on the lower part of the keyboard, the music steadily growing in strength and power, Charles felt pure and utter rage. Against what or whom, he didn’t know, but it was there, incontrovertibly. It was both magnificent and terrifying to watch and when Erik finished the piece with a loud accord that echoed through the classroom, there were goosebumps on Charles’ arms. 

“Bravo, Erik!” Mr Shaw praised and he clapped Erik jovially on the shoulder – Charles didn’t miss the boy’s tiny flinch. “That was excellent!” Mr Shaw seemed totally undisturbed and Charles wondered if they’d just been listening to the same performance. 

His teacher was looking very pleased. “This gives me an idea of your abilities, Erik. I’m certain you’ll be one of my top students – pity we’ll only have one year to work together. But what a year it will be, right? We're going to have a lot of fun together.” 

Erik didn’t react. 

“So,” Shaw continued, suddenly quite less enthusiastic, “next week we will be analyzing the Chopin; we’ll pick up the Bach and Rachmaninoff later on.” 

He turned to Charles, then. “Xavier, let’s see how your pieces are going, yeah?”

Charles stood up. He went to the piano stool where Erik had been a moment before – it was still warm – and took a deep breath. Then he started playing his study piece. 

He was nervous – was it the other boy? Or the fact that it was the first lesson after the holidays? Whatever is was, he made more mistakes than he would’ve liked. Still, Mr Shaw seemed rather pleased with him as he urged him on to the next piece, Bach’s fugue in E major. 

More at ease now, Charles managed to tune out the rest of the world. He closed his eyes and although the composition was complicated, he made the melody travel smoothly from voice to voice with an ease that came naturally to him. 

When he had played the last note and opened his eyes, he was startled to find Erik looking straight at him with an almost rapt expression. His eyes were quite blue. 

During Charles’ Schubert sonata, Raven and Hank came in for their lesson and unlike Erik before, Charles stumbled over the notes and broke the spell. He didn’t mind; he didn’t like the piece much, anyway, and he finished it absentmindedly. He pretended not to notice Erik’s frown. 

Mr Shaw smiled widely. “Welcome, Raven, Hank, you’re early.”

Then he looked at Charles. “Your study piece was good, Charles, and your fugue was… absolutely splendid. Good work! The Schubert sonata needs working on, though, so we’ll start with that next week. I’ll pair you up with Hank at 7 pm; Raven and Erik can come at 6 pm then.”

Raven absolutely beamed at that. 

Charles raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, he’s _hot_!” she mouthed silently at Charles. 

Charles rolled his eyes. Of course Raven would be delighted to have a new prey after Hank had gently turned her down. He refused to contemplate if, maybe, she was right about Erik being hot. 

Mr Shaw clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Well, then, I am pleased to announce to you all that the board has decided to participate in the Clara competition this year. As you probably know, only the most promising students from all over the country can enter this prestigious competition.” 

He grinned at them widely, looking them in the eye one by one, probably just for the dramatic effect. “I’ve nominated both Charles and Erik and boys, you have been accepted, should you want to participate.”

Charles felt suddenly dizzy, his heart seemingly thudding against his temples. The Clara competition. This was, finally, something his mother could maybe _understand_ , something she could _care_ about – something that could maybe even earn him some respect from his stepfather. Maybe – 

Mr Shaw cleared his throat. “Before you make a decision, it is good to know that the winner will not only receive the much wanted Clara certificate, but also a money prize and a scholarship for any further musical education.” 

Erik’s head snapped up at that. “A scholarship?”

“Yes,” Mr Shaw said. “A full scholarship for the musical education of your choice, including tuition, housing and all further expenses.” 

“I’m in.” Erik said without hesitation. He glanced at Charles, looking almost… nervous. It was a strange look on his otherwise impassive features.

“I’m in, as well,” Charles stated. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass, this one chance to finally _be_ someone to his family.


	2. An interesting lesson

Charles knew that if he wanted to have a chance of winning, he had to practice even more. He was playing almost the entire weekend; the next week, he got up at 5am every day so he could spend a couple of hours behind the piano before going to school. 

After school, he played until the notes on the sheet before him were dancing before his eyes and he couldn’t help but go to bed. When Raven called him on Wednesday to ask him if he wanted to go to the movies with her, he declined. 

By the time it was Friday again, Charles was exhausted. 

Hank shot him a concerned look before class. “You ok?”

Charles nodded absentmindedly. 

“You overdid it this week, right?” Hank pressed. “Because of the competition.”

Charles nodded again. “I might have, yes. Just a little.”

Hank pushed his glasses into place. “You know, Charles, if Shaw didn’t think you’d stand a chance, he wouldn’t have enrolled you. You’re good enough, man.”

“Thanks, but –“

“Gentlemen,” Mr Shaw interrupted, opening the wooden door of the old classroom with his usual smile plastered on his face. “Please enter. Xavier, you go first today.”

The lesson didn’t go well at all. It wasn’t only that Charles was tired; the sonata just didn’t agree with him, somehow. The piece was beautiful, yes, but Charles couldn’t quite grasp it. He didn’t understand what on earth the composer was trying to tell, and he had no clue how to play the bloody thing. 

“I just don’t _get_ it!” he flared up. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Can’t I just try another piece for the competition?”

Mr Shaw smiled, but shook his head. “No, Charles. I think there’s a lot you can learn from the sonata.”

Charles looked at him pleadingly. “But –“

“You _will_ understand it, in time, I’m sure of it. And it’ll help you grow, musically and even personally, I believe.”

“But it’s _frustrating_ ,” Charles muttered. 

“I know,” Mr Shaw simply said. “But you’ll get there, Charles. Trust me.” Then he turned to Hank. “Ok, now let’s see how that Fauré impromptu is going!”

That day, Charles only passed Erik fleetingly in the music school’s hallway. The other boy was being followed by a chattering and wildly gesticulating Raven, to whom he was hardly paying any attention. He had dark circles under his eyes, Charles noticed, and was hardly looking any better than Charles knew he looked himself. 

He wondered if Erik’s lesson would go any better than his own. 

*** 

The next Friday, Charles was better prepared. He still didn’t understand or like the sonata, but he had made _some_ progress, at least, and he was sure Shaw would notice. 

It was that, and definitely not the fact that he was paired up with Erik again that week, that was responsible for the spring in his step when he entered the building. 

Erik was already in the classroom, rigidly practising scales and arpeggios. Mr Shaw, however, was nowhere to been seen. 

“I’ve never known Shaw come in late,” Charles commented upon entering. 

“He’s not coming,” Erik said, not looking up as he continued with the G minor scale. “Apparently, he’s called in sick and expects us to work together.” The disdain in his voice was obvious. 

Charles shrugged. “Might not be such a bad idea, actually.”

Erik said nothing and played the A major scale. 

“I’m sure we can learn something from each other.”

A minor. 

“We could – “ Charles walked towards the piano. “Could you please _stop doing_ that?”

Erik stopped and looked up at Charles. From this close, Charles could see his eyes were actually more grey than blue, and there was a hardness in them that Charles had rarely seen. 

“What do you propose, then?” Erik asked in a flat voice. 

“Play for me,” Charles answered, refusing to be intimidated by the boy. He sat down on Shaw’s usual chair. “Play the Chopin and I’ll tell you what I think.”

Erik huffed, but he took the Chopin sheets out of his backpack and put them on the piano. “You want to hear me play. Really.”

“Yes,” Charles said. 

Erik hesitated for a moment, but then he played. And he played well, as usual, but like two weeks before, he was playing notes, not music. 

When he had finished, Charles was biting his lip, not sure what to say. He settled on: “Are you doing that on purpose?”

Erik looked confused. “Am I doing _what_ on purpose?”

“Not putting any emotion whatsoever in your play.”

Erik was silent for a little while. Then he said: “Why, yes, of course I am.”

Charles frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Chopin’s Etudes were meant as exercises, Charles. Their sole purpose is to train certain aspects of the pianist’s technique, not to reflect any emotion!”

“I beg to differ,” Charles said. “Yes, the Etudes are study pieces, but you’re very wrong to think that means there are no emotions in them. In fact, the emotional aspects even transcend the simple playing, Erik. Chopin is telling us a story in every single piece.”

Erik shook his head. “It’s clear that the technical aspect –“

“And Bach,” Charles interrupted him. “I’ve heard you play your fugue two weeks ago and there was nothing there, either.”

“Bach played on a harpsichord,” Erik said slowly. “A _harpsichord_ , Charles. No accents, no crescendos or decrescendos. So I doubt Bach was trying to convey any emotion.”

“In fact, there are many who believe Bach’s favorite instrument to be the clavichord, not the harpsichord,” Charles countered. “Enter _emotion_.”

“Bach is math.” Erik stated, voice rising slightly. “Math and logic and technique.”

Charles grinned. Passion was a good look on Erik. “Why yes, I do admit it can be difficult to sift through the technical nature of some of his works, but –“ He suddenly had an idea. “All right then. Play the beginning of ‘Für Elise’.”

Erik snorted. “’Für Elise’. Charles, _really_?” 

“Play it,” Charles said, impatiently. “Come on. Beethoven wrote the piece for a lover, not for training purposes and he played it on a pianoforte. There ought to be some emotion in that one, right?”

The challenge hung heavily in the air. 

Then Erik slowly put his hands on the keys and started playing. 

Charles winced. Again, Erik’s technique was impeccable, but he wasn’t playing the _music_. 

“Erik,” Charles put his hand on Erik’s. A jolt of electricity shot through his body, but he ignored it – for now. Erik looked up at him in surprise – whether he had felt it, too, or whether he was just surprised at Charles’ audacity, Charles didn’t know – and he immediately stopped playing. 

“You sound like a machine,” Charles blurted out. 

In the silence that followed, he thought Erik was going to get angry with him, but then the other boy sighed and simply said: “I’m not very familiar with… emotion.”

Charles cocked his head. “You didn’t sound like a machine when you were playing Rachmaninoff.”

Erik said nothing. 

Charles leapt up suddenly. “You know what? You’re sitting way too straight. And your shoulders are too tense.” He walked until he was standing right behind the piano stool.

“Is it… alright if I touch you?” he asked, remembering the way Erik had flinched when Shaw had touched his back. 

Erik nodded tersely. 

Then Charles put his hands on Erik’s shoulders and gently pressed them down until he felt the boy relax slightly. “Good. Now, think of a happy moment,” he continued. 

“I don’t know –“

Charles’ hands stilled. “Were you never happy?” 

“I was. When – when my mother was still alive.”

“I’m sorry.” Charles felt ashamed for a moment. Here he was, meddling in the affairs of a boy he barely knew – then again, from the day they’d met, he’d felt this strange connection between them. It was almost as if he’d known Erik for much, much longer than two weeks. 

When Erik said nothing, Charles squeezed his shoulders gently. “Now play,” he said softly. “Chopin.”

Erik tried again and Charles closed his eyes. The melody sang to him, light and bouncy, and he could feel happiness and warmth and serenity in every single note. He couldn’t help the tear that slid down his cheek and promptly wiped it away before Erik could notice it. 

After the last notes, Erik looked up at him expectantly. His eyes were watery, as well. 

“That was beautiful, Erik,” Charles smiled. “In your Rachmaninoff I felt rage; now I feel exactly the opposite. And I think you will be at your best when you play from the point between the two – the point between rage and serenity.”

Erik’s grin was so wide it was almost blinding.


	3. Quid pro quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was experiencing some internet problems. But here you go! Next chapter will be up on Monday. :-)

When Raven and Hank came in soon after, Charles was surprised they’d already been at it for a complete hour. He’d not even touched the piano, yet he found he’d enjoyed the lesson immensely. He hadn’t been expecting the easy banter between him and Erik. Most people – even his best friend, Raven – didn’t quite get his obsession with the piano, or thought he was a show-off. 

Not Erik, though. He’d spoken about the instrument with the same passion that Charles felt. He had challenged Charles again and again and had proven himself to be intelligent and witty in doing so. And in the end, he’d trusted Charles. Intuitively Charles knew the other boy didn’t trust often or easily and it made him feel… special. 

After talking to Raven for a while, Charles found himself disappointed that Erik had already left. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for – he could hardly expect Erik to be his bosom buddy all of a sudden – but still, it stung. 

When he approached the school’s playground though, he saw Erik loitering around the bicycle shed. 

“Are you waiting for me?” he asked when he was close enough. He knew that he was beaming ridiculously, but he just couldn’t help it. 

“Yes,” Erik said. “I wanted to thank you. For today. It was… interesting.”

“You’re welcome,” Charles said. “I quite enjoyed it myself.”

Erik shook his head, though a small smile played around his lips. “You didn’t even get to play, Charles. Give me your phone.” He held out his hand and Charles put his phone in it, raising an eyebrow. 

Erik typed in something and then returned it to Charles. “Now you have my number. Call me. I’d like to return the favor.”

It took Charles a moment to realize what Erik meant, but then comprehension dawned on him. “You want to… teach me?”

“If you’d like,” Erik answered, looking at Charles intently. "Quid pro quo."

Charles nodded quickly. “Yes, I think I’d like that.” He unlocked his bicycle and nodded again. “I’ll send you a text later on, okay?”

“Alright,” Erik smiled, and although it was nothing like the sharklike grin he’d shown earlier, it made Charles feel warm inside. 

“Later, then.” Charles took his bike rather clumsily out of the shed. 

“Later,” Erik said. 

Charles hopped on his bike, stumbling only a little, and took off.

***

 _Later_. Did that mean later that evening? Later that weekend? Or maybe later that week? Charles decided he had to wait for a couple of days, at the least. He’d only just met Erik and he didn’t want to look too clingy. 

So the next day, he got up and after breakfast, he started practising as usual. First scales to warm up, then the sonata. He didn’t get anywhere though. 

At first he thought it was the damned sonata again, but when he was stumbling even during a simple composition of his own, he had to admit that he was just plain nervous. 

_Let’s get it over with_. 

He took his phone. One missed call. His stomach did flip flops, until he realized it couldn’t possibly be Erik, since the other boy didn’t have his number. It turned out to be Raven, and he ignored her for the time being. He quickly squashed any guilt he should feel. 

After several attempts he managed to send a message to Erik: ‘Hey Erik, Charles here. Stuck with the sonata again, so a lesson would be good, at your convenience.’

Five minutes later his phone beeped. ‘2 pm? E’

‘2 sounds good. Shall I some to your place? C’, he answered. 

‘No,’ came in only a minute after. And then: ‘I’ll come to yours. E’

Charles typed in the address and looked at the clock. 2 more hours. 

***

When the bell rang at exactly 13:59 (not that he was looking at his watch every single minute), Charles flew down the stairs and opened the heavy wooden front door of the house. 

“Erik!” he exclaimed, ushering the other boy inside. “I’m glad you’re here!” 

Erik didn’t respond, though, and he was silent as they mounted the ornate stairs of the giant mansion. His lips were pursed into a thin line. 

The piano room was the smallest room in the house and the only one not radiating any luxury. The wallpaper – brown with flowers on it, probably some relic from the seventies – was coming off in some places and the piano itself hardly looked any better than it did when Charles had discovered it so many years ago. 

“It isn’t much, I know,” Charles said apologetically as they sat down, Charles on the piano stool and Erik on a chair beside him. “The music room is the only place my mother doesn’t want to spend her money on, it seems.” 

It had been the wrong thing to say, Charles realized when he saw Erik’s already sour face clouding over. 

“So, teach me!” Charles said cheerfully in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Erik said nothing. 

“Erik?” 

The other boy sighed and shook his head. “Maybe this was a mistake, Charles.” He stood up. “I should leave.”

“No!” Charles leapt up. “What is it? What did I do wrong?”

Erik was silent. 

Charles nervously raked a hand through his hair. “I mean… I – I really enjoyed it, yesterday. I thought… that we had some connection. I thought… I don’t know, that maybe we could be friends. And now you –“

“It’s just that… I can’t see how you would need it, Charles. The prize money. The scholarship. The –“

Something snapped inside of Charles. “So this is about the house? You see that my mother is rich and all of a sudden you think you know all about me?”

“It’s –“

“No!” Charles shouted. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Erik!” He bit his lip, disappointed. “For your information, I’m not doing this for the money, no.”

Erik looked puzzled. “But why else –“

Charles hesitated, but only for a moment. “My mother’s an alcoholic. I’m not even sure where she is, today: she could be in her room, sleeping it off, or she could be in some shabby bar, nagging on and on about how miserable her life is.” 

Erik opened his mouth as if so say something, but then refrained from doing so. 

Charles snorted. “And my stepdad, he’s just – not around most of the time. Not that I mind.” He swallowed thickly. “When I was 7, he purposely let the piano cover fall on both my hands because he ‘couldn’t stand the sound any more’. I couldn’t play for weeks. And the worst thing was that I didn’t even know if I’d ever be able to play again, since my mother didn’t care to take me to the doctor’s.”

He sat down again on the stool, looking defeated. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. The point is that I’m trying to… impress them, I guess. Show Kurt that I’m actually _good_ at this. And to… at least get my mom to notice me,” he ended in a soft voice. 

Erik’s features darkened even more than before. “You shouldn’t _have_ to impress them, Charles. They’re your parents, for crying out loud. They’re supposed to be impressed by you even if you didn’t have any talent at all.”

“I know,” Charles whispered. He was not going to break down, dammit. 

“ _I_ am impressed by you.”

Charles’ head shot up at that. _Did Erik just say –_

“Let’s play,” Erik sat down by Charles’ side. “You _did_ want my opinion on the Schubert, right?” 

Charles took a deep breath. Schubert it was, then. 

***

Charles finished playing and looked at Erik expectantly. “Well?”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “And you say that _I_ play like a machine? Where’s your emotion, now?”

“That’s just it!” Charles let his hands fall into his lap. “I – usually, when I hear or play music, I automatically know what it’s about, what it is that its composer’s trying to convey. This piece, though… I don’t understand it. At all. And it’s driving me insane!”

“What exactly don’t you understand?” Erik looked thoughtful. 

“I don’t know, I –“ Charles shook his head. “I think it’s the theme. It’s always there and it’s… not exactly ugly, but… something’s _off_. And every beautiful part of the sonata is cut off by that stupid theme, again and again, and I don’t understand. ”

Erik rolled his eyes. “It’s _supposed_ to feel off. And it is rather ugly, indeed – you are right about that.”

“But why?” Charles asked, frustrated but at the same time relieved that Erik did seem to have some answers, at least. 

Erik sighed dramatically. “Because it’s death, Charles. The theme represents death.” 

“Death?”

“Yes. And every beautiful part of the sonata – of life in general – is indeed cut off by it. Sometimes there’s hope. Joy. Love. But there’s always death.” 

“Love and death,” Charles whispered, a myriad of emotions cursing through him. “It’s really that simple?”

“Try it,” Erik motioned towards the piano keys. “Play it again.”

When Charles started over, he could feel with every fiber of his being that Erik was right. He could feel happiness and excitement and love, and in the technically most challenging part there was a restlessness which suddenly reminded him so much of Erik that he didn’t even stumble in the least. He could _feel_ it, now. 

Death had the last word, indeed, and Charles looked up at Erik when he’d finished. Their eyes met and again, a shiver went through Charles. 

“Much better,” Erik nodded, seeming utterly pleased with Charles. Or maybe with himself for being such a good teacher. 

“Do you… really believe that is what life is?” Charles asked. "Love and death?"

He only realized his mistake when he saw Erik’s face fall. 

“So far life hasn’t proven me otherwise,” Erik said. Then he grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It is a heavier piece, I admit, but then again, it can’t all be butterflies, right?”


	4. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter I'm working on was becoming way too long, so I decided to post the first part separately. It's kind of an interlude, nothing too exciting, but, well, it needed to be said. Hope you enjoy!

Charles heard absolutely nothing from Erik the next week. On Monday he sent a tentative ‘Hey Erik, how’s practice going? Thanks again for your help with the sonata. C’, but he didn’t receive an answer. 

By Wednesday, he stopped checking his phone every 5 minutes. 

By Friday, he was convinced that Erik had categorized him as a spoiled brat after all, a rich kid not worth his attention. He briefly considered calling in sick for his piano lesson, but then rejected the idea as he couldn’t afford to miss a lesson – not now, not when the first round of the competition was about to start in a couple of weeks. 

He could, however, afford to be late for the lesson, he decided. He didn’t know with whom he was paired up today, but in case it was Erik – well, he didn’t feel like talking to him. 

When he entered the classroom ten minutes late, though, it was Raven who was sitting behind the piano. She was playing much better than she had been the last time Charles had heard her and he realized he had _really_ not been paying enough attention to his friend lately. When she'd finished, he smiled at her and put his thumbs up. 

His own lesson went well. After the last accord of the Schubert sonata, Mr Shaw actually applauded him. 

“I don’t know how you did this in two weeks’ time, Charles, but that was – splendid,” he commented. Then his eyes narrowed and Charles could practically see the wheels turning in the man’s head. 

“Then again, maybe I _do_ have an idea where that came from.” For a moment, Mr Shaw’s eyes bore into his and Charles felt slightly uneasy. “Anyway, you’ve made a lot of progress, Xavier. Well done.”

Charles was still wondering what had just happened when he and Raven left the classroom. He’d actually forgotten all about Erik, but in the hallway, they passed both him and Hank. 

“Hank, hi!” Charles said. Then his eyes met Erik’s. His heart was suddenly throbbing in his chest. “Hello, Erik.”

“Charles,” Erik nodded. 

The silence stretched as they stood there, gazes locked. The rest of the world ceased to exist to Charles as they stared at each other. 

It was Erik who broke the silence and the moment, eventually. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message. I got it while I was playing and I… forgot about it. It happens to me, sometimes.” He shrugged apologetically. 

“That’s ok,” Charles managed to say, not sure if Erik was being sincere or not. Again, silence hung between them. 

“I should…” Erik pointed towards the door of the classroom. “We’re already late.”

“Yes, of course.” Charles willed his limbs to move and stepped aside to let Erik and Hank pass. 

When his hand was already on the knob, Erik turned around slightly. “Should you need any more help, I wouldn’t mind coming over again.”

Slowly a smile spread across Charles’ face. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Text me. I’ll answer this time.” Erik smirked and the disappeared into the classroom. 

***

When he was done staring at the door, Charles found Raven looking at him with an amused expression on her face. “What?”

“What the hell was _that_?” Raven exclaimed. Her voice echoed through the bare hallway. 

Charles winced. “Keep it down, Raven! What are you talking about?” 

Raven crossed her arms and looked at him in that way women look at men when they think they’re onto them. 

“ _You_ are taking me out for a drink. Now. We need to talk, obviously.”

Charles sighed dramatically. “Good heavens, the sacrifices I have to make for you!” Then he smiled warmly. He knew he’d neglected his best friend and now, seeing her and hearing her play, he realized how much he’d missed her. 

They went to the pub across the street. Like the other times they’d been there, there were only businessmen winding down after a hard week’s work, but Charles didn’t mind. He’d never felt at ease in the so-called hip bars that his classmates seemed to frequent most of their free time, and he detested the dingy pubs that his mother was so painfully fond of. 

“Camomile tea for him and a beer for me, please,” Raven told the waitress without consulting Charles first. She flopped down across of him. “So?”

Charles let it go. “So, what?” he asked innocently. 

“So why haven’t I heard from you since Erik walked into that classroom?” 

“You mean, since Shaw enrolled us in the Clara competition and I had to start working my ass off,” Charles corrected. 

“Is that was it is?” Raven obviously didn’t believe a word he said. 

“Yes.”

“And it has nothing to do with that gorgeous new student you were ogling just ten minutes ago.”

“I _wasn’t_.” Charles took a sip of his tea and burned his tongue. 

“That gorgeous student for whom you apparently _do_ have time, may I point out’, Raven continued. 

“We’ve been _practising_ together!” Charles said pointedly. He took one of the Japanese crackers that came with Raven’s beer. He didn’t even like Japanese crackers. 

“I’ve known you for two years, Xavier.” Raven leaned forward, took the cracker out of his hand and put it in her mouth. “You don’t fool me,” she mumbled, chewing. “You like him, don’t you?”

Charles looked down. When he’d met Raven in music school, they’d quickly become friends – he'd immediately liked her cheerfulness and spontaneity and they’d hit off from their first lesson together. After a couple of months, on a snowy winter Friday, Raven had kissed him at the bus stop in front of the music school. 

Charles had stopped her, telling her it was really not her but _him_ , since he was gay and _yes_ , he was absolutely certain about that. Raven had been disappointed, but later she confessed that she was actually very happy about it. With Charles, she could finally be herself. Every other boy she fell in love with sooner or later – she just couldn’t help it, she claimed –, and with every girl there was a constant competition going on about who would get this or that guy.

They’d been best friends ever since. Charles really couldn’t lie to her. 

“Maybe I do, yes. And before you start: I know that I shouldn’t and no, I haven’t tried anything and I’m not going to, since he obviously doesn’t like me back and –“

“Charles!” Raven was laughing. “Why do you think he doesn’t like you back? I mean –“

“You heard what he just said, didn’t you?” Charles said deliberately. “He ‘forgot’ about my message.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “I believe him, you know. It’s something _you_ would do. It just means he’s as big a piano freak as you are.”

“You think so?” Charles looked doubtful. 

“And he talks to you,” Raven provided. 

“And that’s special, because…?”

Raven took another cracker. “He doesn’t talk to anyone else.”

Well, true enough. 

“And you’ve been meeting him, and he wants to meet you again,” she added. “And he’s helping you while he obviously wants to win that competition. Badly.”

Charles had been wondering about that himself. “Still, I don’t think someone like Erik would want someone like me.” 

“I think he’d be mad not to,” Raven said quietly. 

Charles felt a pang of happiness and took her hand in his. There were crumbs in it. “I love you, you know that? And I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you, lately. I didn’t mean –“

“I understand,” Raven interrupted him. “It’s alright. But from now on, you tell me what’s going on, okay? If I can’t have a love life of my own, then I damn well want to know about yours!”

“I don’t have one either, you know,” Charles pointed out. “But I do have you, and I’m very lucky to have a friend like you, Raven.” 

“I know,” Raven replied flippantly. “So the least you can do is buy me another beer.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he hauled himself up to go to the counter. “Don’t forget the crackers!” Raven yelled after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Charles/Erik in the next chapter, I promise! :-)


	5. Chemistry

The next morning Charles got up even earlier than usual to make up for the time he’d taken off the evening before. He and Raven had been out later than he’d expected – it was one of the few times he was actually happy there was no one at home waiting up for him. 

It had been absolutely worth it, though. Charles felt great and ready to take on his study piece for a change. 

Moszkowski’s Etude in A-flat minor was one of the most beautiful pieces he’d ever played, but he kept struggling with it. Although his technique had improved considerably since he’d started taking lessons, it still remained his weakness – he knew he’d never own the grace with which Erik played, as if he had to make no effort whatsoever even in the most demanding pieces.

With the competition coming up though, Charles knew he had to get better technically, especially with his left hand. It just wasn’t as strong and coordinated as his right and no matter how many times he played the Moszkowski, it wouldn’t come out right. 

It didn’t come out right that morning, either, but nothing could ruin Charles’ good mood. 

At noon he made himself an omelet and, chewing, sent a text to Erik. ‘Hey Erik, feel like coming over? C’

‘Can’t,’ was the short reply. And then: ‘This evening, maybe? E’

Charles whooped out loud. This day really couldn’t get any better. 

***

That afternoon though, when he was still not getting anywhere with the study piece, he finally had enough and put a crisp sheet of white music paper in front of him. 

He rarely allowed himself the pleasure of working on his own compositions these days, but a tune had been stuck in his head for more than a week now and was waiting to be examined and perfected. 

Completely caught up in his work, Charles hadn’t noticed the storm clouds gathering in the darkening sky, but by the time the doorbell rang, it was raining cats and dogs outside.

When Charles opened the door, he was faced with a thoroughly soaked Erik. His hair was plastered to his face. 

“You bloody idiot! Did you walk all the way over here?” Charles was careful not to mention that he could’ve just sent over his mother’s driver, who was always at his disposal when his mum was not out. He knew Erik wouldn’t take it well. 

He yanked Erik inside and hauled him all the way up to his bathroom. 

“You’re… wet,” he stated, lamely.

“How astute of you,” Erik replied, but he allowed Charles to toss one of his fluffy towels over his head. When he was done drying his hair, he took off his drenched sweater. Underneath he was wearing a black shirt, which was damp and clung to his body. 

Charles looked away. 

“So, of course you would have your own bathroom,” Erik remarked. 

“Don’t start.” Charles gave him a look, but he smiled. “Let’s go practice. It’s your turn, I believe.”

When they were walking through one of the mansion’s many hallways, Charles inadvertently started humming the tune he’d been working on that afternoon. 

“What are you so happy about?” Erik asked. 

“Oh, I just had a great day. And a great night, actually, yesterday.” Charles resumed his humming. 

“Yes, I saw you and Raven in the pub after my lesson,” Erik said sharply. “It looked very pleasant, indeed.” 

“What?” Charles bristled, surprised at Erik’s tone. “It’s not like that! I mean, not that she’s not a great catch, because she _is_ , but she’s not a – she’s not my type.” In the dim hallway Charles couldn’t make out Erik’s expression.

The piano room was almost completely dark when they came in and Charles flicked on an orange floor lamp. Like this, with the rain clattering against the windows and the lamp light softening the blandness of the room, it felt almost… cozy. Or maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t alone. Or the fact that it was Erik who was here with him.

He quickly removed the sheets from the piano and put them in the top drawer of the old desk. He planned to show his work to Erik, but not before it was finished. 

He turned to Erik then. “Sit. Play,’ he ordered playfully. “What do you want to work on today?”

“I don’t know. Bach, maybe,” Erik answered absentmindedly. He sat down and stared at the keys for a moment. When he started playing, it was by heart, very fast, and again, rather technically. 

“No, no,” Charles chastised him gently. “You remember what we talked about, right? Technically it’s perfect, as usual, but you should at least try to make the melody sing here. It goes from voice to voice, it’s marvelous really, you should –“

“Charles.” Erik stopped playing. 

“You know what? You should take your sheets again, and highlight the melody with a marker.”

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik repeated, slightly hoarse. 

Charles looked thoughtful. “Or you could hum the melody while you’re playing. It really doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as you become aware of the flow of it.” He stood up and put his hands on Erik’s shoulders, much as he had on their first lesson together. “Relax. Then you can –“

“Charles!” Erik whirled around on the piano stool. 

“What?” Charles snapped. Erik’s mood swings were really getting the better of him and he refused to let them ruin his good mood. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have touched Erik without asking. “What did I – “ 

His eyes met Erik’s and he almost stopped breathing at what he saw in them. Not anger. Not irritation. _Want_. 

“Oh,” Charles breathed. 

Erik’s hand went up, ever so slowly, and it curled around Charles’ nape. For a moment, Erik just looked at him, his index finger drawing little circles on the sensitive spot just below Charles’ hairline. 

“Charles,” Erik said again, this time with so much wonder in his voice that Charles actually shivered. Then Erik pulled him down, closing the distance between them, and kissed him. 

Charles had had first kisses before. All of them had been hesitant, careful, sometimes a bit clumsy. Erik was none of these things. He kissed Charles with the same focus he played the piano with, like Charles was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

And at that moment, because it was _Erik_ kissing him, Charles actually felt like he was. 

He felt something else too, though, and he was slightly overwhelmed by the physical desire that coursed through his body. He didn’t even know Erik all that long, or all that well. 

The angle was awkward and Erik got off the piano stool, pulling them both down on their knees. Their bodies were suddenly flush against each other, and after a while, Charles realized that Erik must feel _that_ , too. 

He pulled away, feeling slightly self-conscious. “I’m sor-“

“Don’t,” Erik interrupted him. “Never be ashamed of who you are and what you feel.” He moved his legs slightly, showing Charles he wasn’t the only one affected. 

Charles bit back a moan at the friction. “I’m not,” he rasped, not missing the glint of approval in Erik’s eyes. “But I think that this is maybe a bit… fast.” 

“Alright,” Erik said, visibly pulling himself together. Then he put some distance between them and nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright.” He kissed him again, softly this time. “I need to go soon, anyway.”

“It’s still raining.”

“I’ll survive.” Erik said dryly, standing up. Charles felt acutely bereft of the contact. 

Charles led him towards the main entrance, only daring to take Erik’s hand when they’d arrived there. Erik turned towards him and this time, it was Charles who initiated the kiss. It lasted a long time. 

When they parted, Charles shook his head fondly. “At least take my rain coat, Erik. It’ll fit, it’s way too big for me.” It was. Charles had never really had a growth spurt like the others in his class. 

Something flickered in Erik’s eyes before he nodded, albeit hesitantly. “If you insist.” 

When Erik left five minutes later in his rain coat, Charles stared after him for a long time. It was still raining heavily and he knew he looked like an idiot – a thoroughly drowned idiot, since he didn’t have a coat any more –, but he’d never felt so happy in his life. That morning, he’d thought his day couldn’t get any better. Apparently, it could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike Charles, I'm having a lousy day... Feel free to make it better with a comment or kudos! :-)


	6. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Warning: mature content.

The next week, Charles didn’t hear anything from Erik: not a call, not a visit, not even a text. He would’ve appreciated it, though, if Erik would’ve at least returned his coat, since it kept pouring incessantly. 

Oh, who was he kidding; he didn’t give a damn about the coat. Besides, he’d figured out by now that Erik’s financial situation was quite the opposite from his own – he supposed that was why Erik never invited him over to his house – and Erik probably needed the thing more than he did. 

No, he just longed to hear from the other boy. Erik’s silence was hardly new, but right now, it was confusing him. He didn’t like not knowing where he stood. 

When he arrived at the music school on Friday for his lesson with Hank, it would’ve been an understatement to say he was nervous. He was going to see Erik, even if it was for just a couple of minutes in between lessons. 

Much to his surprise – as his mind was elsewhere – his lesson went fairly well; Shaw actually praised him for the improvement in his Moszkowski Etude. By the time it was Hank’s turn, though, his left hand was killing him and he asked if he could be excused for the rest of the hour, as he really wasn’t feeling all that well. 

Shaw frowned, but then gave his consent. “Alright. Keep up the good work, Charles. You’re improving greatly, but it’s not quite yet at the level you need to be for the competition.” Then his eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, I would almost forget to tell you: next week we’ll know which one of your pieces you will have to perform for the first round.”

Charles nodded, his excitement tempered by the pain in his hand. He quickly got his sheets, stuffed them in his bag and went out. 

It was still raining cats and dogs, so he sat down on one of the benches under the playground’s shelter. He wiggled the fingers of his left hand and winced. There was definitely something wrong with it. 

“Charles? What’s with your hand?” 

Charles jumped, startled. “Erik! You’re early!” 

“Your _hand_ ,” Erik repeated, looking worried. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I- well, the good news is that the étude is much better, now.” Charles tried to smile reassuringly, but immediately saw that Erik wasn’t buying it. “The bad news is that I might have overdone it a bit, this week.”

Erik frowned. “Which means you’ve spent hours in a row practising the left hand part and quite possibly ruined your hand.” He took Charles’ hand in his and started to massage it, very gently and very carefully. 

It felt heavenly and Charles couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. “Feels so good, Erik,” he breathed, and then he turned beet red when he realized how that must have sounded. 

Erik’s eyes’ darkened and he was about to say something, when they were interrupted by Raven. Apparently, she’d also decided to come early. 

“Guys!” she shouted, looking from Charles to Erik and then at their joined hands. “So… you’re a thing now, or what?” She bit her lip and looked at them with a sparkle in her eyes. 

“Well, I…” Charles swallowed thickly. “We –“

“Yes,” Erik interrupted him, his thumb drawing circles on Charles’ palm. “We are.”

“Oh! Charles, I’m so happy for you!” Raven pulled him into a hug, which turned out rather awkward as Erik just _didn’t let go of his hand_. He was sure, though, that she could feel his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. 

When she let go, Raven looked at Erik approvingly. “And I’m happy for you too, Erik. You’re one lucky bastard, if you ask me.” She giggled. “I can’t believe you actually talked to me.”

Charles couldn’t help but laugh at that, even more so when he noticed Erik’s puzzled expression. 

Raven cocked her head. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone, then. But you’d better not be late for our lesson, Erik. Shaw was just looking at you guys through the curtains and he did not look happy for some reason.”

“So,” Charles said when his friend had gone inside. “We’re a thing now, are we?” He couldn’t keep from smiling. 

The corner of Erik’s mouth also curled up slightly. “I think that we are.” Then his expression changed to one so serious it startled Charles. “If you want us to be, that is.”

“Yes,” Charles stated immediately. “I’d like that very much.” And he tilted his head up to meet Erik’s lips, just to show him how much he _wanted_. 

Much too soon Erik broke the kiss and let go of his hand. “I’d better get inside.” 

Charles nodded reluctantly. “When can I… see you again?” He hoped he didn’t sound too clingy, but he hadn’t had nearly enough to go without Erik for another week. 

Erik thought for a moment. “Tomorrow I have something else. Sunday alright?”

“Alright.” 

Erik pulled him closer again and gave him a peck on his lips. “And until then, _please_ , don’t play the étude, Charles. I wasn’t kidding about ruining your hand.”

“I won’t,” Charles said. “Not until Sunday.” 

***

Sunday took a long time to arrive, but finally it was there. The mansion’s doorbell sounded at exactly 3 pm. 

When Charles opened the front door, he was faced with a smiling Erik. He looked… happy. It was a good look on him. 

Charles couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m glad you’re here, Erik.”

“So am I,” Erik answered, and then he pulled Charles into a brief hug. It surprised Charles – he’d never taken Erik for the cuddly type. Then again, he was well aware of the fact that he didn’t know Erik all that well, yet; he wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming person. Charles didn’t mind that much; he knew Erik would open up when he was ready. 

They fell into an easy step until they arrived at the music room. Their eyes locked briefly and Charles knew that Erik, too, was thinking about what had happened there. 

Erik sat down on the piano chair. “So, how’s your hand? Please tell me you haven’t been using it.” He looked genuinely worried. 

“I haven't,” Charles said. “But I’ll have to, soon. I’m sure Shaw told you the piece for the first round will be made public next week, so I’ll have to make sure I practise every piece this week.”

“Don’t,” Erik said sharply. “If you continue like this, you won’t be able to play anything, Charles.”

Charles sighed. “You really think it’s that serious?”

“I saw your face on the playground, Charles. You’re _hurting_.” Erik looked angry all of a sudden. “So yes, I think it’s serious.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

Erik’s answer came immediately. “I think you should go see a doctor. And I think you should only play the right hand part of your pieces, at least for another couple of days. It’s a good exercise, anyway.”

Charles bit the inside of his cheek. “I’ll consider that.” He nodded. “You play then, tonight. At least you are able to use _both_ your hands.” It came out slightly bitterly. 

Erik hesitated, but then he put his hands on the keys and started playing. Even from the first measures, Charles could feel the other boys’ mind was elsewhere. It was Rachmaninoff, for crying out loud, and still it was way below Erik’s standards. 

When he had finished, a silence fell. 

Erik was the one to break it. “This isn’t going to work tonight, is it?”

“No,” Charles said. His heart was suddenly hammering in his chest. “Do you… want to do something else?”

Erik whirled around on the chair. “Yes.” His eyes caught Charles’. The air was crackling between them. “If you want.”

“Let’s go to my room,” Charles said. 

***

As soon as Charles had closed the door of his bedroom and turned around, Erik was kissing him. 

“Mm.” Charles gently pushed him away, smiling. “Let me put on some music, alright?” Music had been a part of every important moment in his life; it felt only appropriate that there should be music now, too. He put on a cd. 

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Led Zeppelin?”

“ _What?_ ” Charles looked indignant. “I’ll let you know that my tastes run to much more than classical music only.” 

“I’m looking forward to finding out exactly what your _tastes_ run to, Charles.” Erik grinned wickedly. 

Charles blushed and he couldn’t help but grin back. It felt so good. So good, to be here with Erik, teasing and joking and – _oh_. Yes, kissing felt good, too.

They kissed for the longest time, and then Charles suddenly needed to be closer. His good hand found its way under Erik’s shirt – he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Erik’s body had looked when he’d been wet, and he'd been wondering what it would be like to touch him. 

Erik’s breath hitched and Charles marveled at the effect he had on him. Erik broke the kiss, though, and for a moment Charles feared he’d overstepped some boundary. But no, Erik pulled off his shirt over his head and gently pushed Charles down on the bed, until he was covering him with his own body. 

Slowly, he opened the buttons of Charles’ dress shirt. When he was done, he put one hand on Charles’ chest and slid down so that the shirt fell open and the fabric pooled by his sides. And then he canted his hips just _so_ and thrusted forward experimentally. 

Charles hissed. Arousal washed over him and he bucked up instinctively, rocking against Erik. The friction was delicious and unbearable at the same time. 

He heard Erik’s laboured breathing in his ear and all of a sudden even this wasn’t enough, he needed more, but at this point there wasn’t time to take off any more clothes, and then he heard a strangled sound coming from Erik. His eyes flew open – when had he closed them? –, and when he saw the grimace on Erik’s face, he realized that Erik was coming, he was _coming_ , in his pants, because of _him_ , and Charles was lost. He was coming, too, making sounds he should probably be ashamed of. 

When he’d come down from his high, Erik was grinning at him widely. “Good?” he asked. 

Charles was still too much undone to utter a single word, so he just reached up and kissed Erik. He would get the point, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are like birthday cake, comments are like the cherries on top! And yes, it's actually my birthday! :-)


	7. Shaw

"You're late," Shaw snapped when Charles entered the classroom. He was looking through the curtains at the playground, his back turned towards Charles. 

"No Sir, I'm not," Charles stated, taken aback by the iciness in his teacher’s tone . He looked at his watch. _6:01 pm_. "Not really. Besides, Hank's not even here yet."

"Hank's not coming," Shaw said curtly. He turned around. "We need to have a chat today, you and I. But first I want you to play."

Charles was suddenly nervous. "Do you know which piece they’ve decided on for the first round?"

"Yes." Shaw grinned, looking like he enjoyed leaving Charles in the dark for a moment. It was not a pleasant expression. Then he relented. "You're lucky, Charles. It's Bach."

Charles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Oh! That's good, yes." He sat down on the piano chair, relieved. He mastered the piece quite well - if his hand would allow it, he was going to be just fine. He'd listened to Erik and he'd given his left hand some rest this week, but he'd no idea how it would hold up today. 

"So _play_." Shaw's commanded as he sat down beside Charles. _What was with that man this evening?_

Ok, Bach. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, already hearing the melody in his head, and he started to play. It didn't come out the way he intended it to, though - his left hand was still more sore than he'd expected – and he cursed inwardly. 

When he'd finished, Shaw was shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, NO, Xavier! To put it bluntly, if you play like this next week, you won't even make it to the finale!"

He was right, Charles realized. "I know," he sighed. "It's... my hand, Sir. It's really hurting and -"

"Your _hand_. Really?" Shaw drawled. "Or is it the fact that have you been distracted by a certain Erik Lehnsherr?"

Charles refused to blush. "What do you mean, Sir?"

"What I mean," Shaw spat, "is that you and Erik are my top students. I got you enrolled in the Clara competition, for god's sake! I need you two to _focus_ , not fool around like a couple of hormonal teenagers!"

"Fool around?" Charles bristled. "Erik's been helping me, Sir! I've improved much, you said so yourself!"

"Doesn't sound like it today, now does it?" Shaw said pointedly. 

"It's my hand, Sir, really. It hurts like hell. In fact, Erik's been helping me with it - he was the one who told me to let it rest, to practise less this week, and - "

"He told you to _practise less_?" Shaw yelled, his eyes widening almost comically. "Your opponent is telling you to _practise less_ and you actually believe he's _helping_ you?"

"I do!" Charles realized they were both shouting and forced himself to calm down. "I mean, he's actually really worried about my hand, which is frankly more than I can say about you." 

He swallowed, not used to talking to his teacher like this - hell, he never talked to _anyone_ like this -, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "He was worried that keeping on playing would make it even worse. Sir."

"Worse for _whom_ , Charles?" Suddenly Shaw's tone changed – he sounded almost… kind. "Worse for you? Or worse for _him_? You do realize you're the opponent he fears the most, no? He's acutely aware of how good you are, of how you have exactly the talent that he misses – the talent of interpretation,” Shaw practically purred. 

"He's quite good himself – technically he’s far better than me. He doesn’t need to fear me, let alone boycot me." The idea was ridiculous.

"Charles, Charles, Charles," Shaw tutted. "So naive. Have you never wondered why someone as keen on winning as Erik would want to help you?"

Charles still didn't have an answer to that. 

"How did he make you trust him like you do, I wonder? Or is it just his pretty face and have I overestimated your intelligence?" 

Charles was fuming. "Frankly, Sir, I can't see how that's any of your business."

Shaw smiled widely then, unfazed by Charles' insolence. "Has he told you where he lives, Charles?"

Charles looked down. 

"I'll take that as a no.” The smile didn’t fade. “Now Charles, are you really certain you can trust him?"

"Yes," Charles muttered. He knew he didn't sound very convincing. 

"Someone like Erik's no good for someone like you. Not at all." Shaw shook his head as if to emphasize his point. "Now take Raven, that's more something for you, no? I mean, the girl has no talent whatsoever, but at least she -"

Charles had _had_ it. Not only did the man have the nerve to insult Erik, but now Raven, also? 

“I think you're way out of line, here, Sir,” he interrupted Shaw through gritted teeth. “And I won’t stand here and listen to your nonsense for a moment longer.” 

He took his things, inwardly cursing the fact that he was shaking and _Shaw could see it_ , and when he’d finally managed, set for the classroom door. 

“May I remind you, Charles, that you're enrolled in the competition _as my student_?” Shaw said, still in that pleasant tone. Charles turned around slowly. 

“Should I, for example, choose to expel you”, Shaw continued, “you wouldn’t be able to participate, did you know that?”

Charles felt suddenly dizzy. "I understand," he managed to get out. 

“Oh, and Charles?” Gone was the kindness as Shaw’s eyes bore into his. “Talk to me like that again and I _will_ expel you, understood?”

Charles nodded. 

_Out. He needed to get out of here._ He sprinted through the hallway towards the playground, not caring when he almost threw one of the swing doors in someone’s face. 

“Charles?”

He looked up, bewildered. “Erik?”

“Charles, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to hyperventilate.” Erik reached out to touch him, but Charles flinched away – he was certain that Shaw was once again looking at them. He ignored the look of hurt that briefly flashed across Erik’s face. 

“I – I’ll explain later,” he breathed. “But Erik, please, _don’t_ listen to a word that man says.” 

“Why?” Erik looked worried sick. “What on earth happened?”

Charles shook his head. He didn’t have enough _air_ , dammit. “Later. But – don’t listen to him. _Please._ ” 

He left without looking back, feeling eyes bore into his back. He had no idea whether they were Shaw’s or Erik’s.


	8. Venom

At 9 p.m., in the comfortable silence of his own room ( _not_ the music room. He did _not_ want to look at a piano right now), Charles had succeeded in calming down just the slightest bit. At least he could breathe again. 

He longed to hear from Erik and decided there was no point in waiting any longer - this was as calm as he would get for the time being. He browsed his contacts and when he'd reached 'Erik L.', he pressed the call button. 

He cursed when after six rings, he was connected to voice mail. "Come on, Erik." He disconnected and called again. 

After the fifth ring, his heart was sinking, but then Erik finally picked up. "Charles."

"Erik, hi. How are you?" 

There was a brief silence. "Good. I'm good," Erik answered. "How are you, Charles? Are you alright? You looked so agitated-"

"No, I'm _not_ alright," Charles interrupted him. "I can't believe the nerve of that man."

"Shaw. What did he do?"

Charles stood up from where he'd been lying on his bed - the place where Erik had been lounging _afterwards_ , looking pleased and possibly a little smug - and started pacing. "Can you believe he actually threatened to suspend me if I kept on seeing you?"

Silence, again. He could faintly hear Erik breathing on the other side of the line. "That's - really? Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?"

Charles nodded, although he knew Erik couldn't see him. "Well, literally he told me he'd suspend me if I ever talked back to him again, but yes, I'm quite sure that was what he meant." He snorted. "Apparently, you _distract_ me too much."

"That's... harsh." Erik said. 

Alarm bells suddenly went off inside Charles’s head. Something was off. The Erik he knew wouldn't sound so... calm. The Erik he knew was hardly ever calm, and would let out the anger that was always lurking right beneath the surface, on Charles’ behalf. 

_But then you don't know him, do you?_ his mind supplied. _He even hides from you where he lives_. His mind sounded suspiciously like Shaw this evening. 

"Erik? What is it? What did Shaw say to you?" Charles knew he couldn’t hide the worry in his voice. 

Again, silence. Now he was really starting to freak out - again. "Erik? Please tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Erik said lamely. He sighed. "Really, it's nothing. He didn't say anything to me, actually. But-"

"But?" Charles snapped. He wasn't a mind reader, but he knew very well when someone was flat out lying to him. 

"I think he means well, Charles."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You think that man means _well_? He threatens to _expel_ me when he has absolutely no reason to and you think he means _well_?"

"Charles." Erik sounded - strange, not like himself at all. "I like you. I really do. And I - don't want to give that up. But - we _do_ distract each other."

 _What the..._ "I don't understand." Charles swallowed thickly. This couldn't be true. Whatever Shaw had said to Erik - and he _had_ said something, of that Charles was very sure - Erik wasn't the type to be influenced so easily, was he? 

" _You_ distract _me_ , in any case." Erik offered. "I'm thinking more about _you_ than I'm thinking about music, these days." He sounded so calm, so reasonable, and it infuriated Charles. 

"What are you saying?"

"Charles, I'm not rejecting you. Quite the contrary. But -"

"But what?” Charles flared. “You feel the need to be Shaw's perfect little student first?" he taunted. 

"No!" Erik shouted. _Finally_ , something other than the calm passiveness that didn't suit Erik at all. "But I need to win that competition first! I _need_ to, Charles, you don't understand -"

"Hell no, I don't understand!" Charles yelled back. "Maybe I'd understand if you actually _talked_ to me once in a while!" 

"What – what are you talking about?" Erik sounded uncharacteristically insecure. It didn't stop Charles, though. 

"You never tell me anything," Charles bit out, knowing he was pushing it too far, but he was too riled up to hold himself back. "Where do you live, Erik?"

There was long silence, this time, and for a moment, Charles thought Erik was going to hang up on him. Then he heard the sound of a lighter – did Erik smoke? 

_Well, apparently he does, but you couldn’t possibly have thought he’d mention that to you now, did you?_

"I'll tell you, Charles.” He heard Erik blow out the smoke. “You're right, and we need to talk about that, but... not now. I think - I think this is what Shaw means," Erik continued. "You shouldn't be worrying about these things right now; you should be playing - or _not_ playing, did you go and see a doctor? I-"

Charles recognized the diversionary tactic for what it was. "Don't," he spat. "Just - tell me."

"Not. Now," Erik said slowly, punctuating every word. "I'll tell you, I promise, but not now. We need to focus on - the first round's next week, for fuck's sake! I need to focus!" He took another drag from his cigarette. 

" _You_ need to focus," Charles repeated through gritted teeth. "It doesn't matter how _I_ feel, of course, because _you_ need to focus. Well, maybe Shaw's right, then, after all. Maybe someone like you is indeed not suitable for someone like me."

It was a cruel thing to say, but he just didn't care anymore. Erik had made it pretty clear that this stupid competition was more important to him than Charles, and hell, Charles wasn't even important enough for Erik to even give him his bloody _address_ , and then Charles did something he'd never done before. He abruptly cut off the line. 

He felt like he was going to burst – he was _so angry_ , with Shaw, with Erik, with himself – and he threw his phone to the other side of the room, where it landed on the floor with a satisfying _crack_. 

Then he jumped off the bed and ran out of his room, almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get to the music room, after all. He slammed the door behind him and started hammering on the piano keys, trying to deal with this the only way he knew how. 

It felt good to let it out, and Charles continued playing in endless arpeggios, for once not caring how it sounded, just harder and louder and – and then it happened. A sharp pain shot through his left hand, worse than he’d ever experienced before, and he cried out as tears sprang to his eyes. 

He leaned forward, cradling his hand in the other, fighting the stab of nausea that came with the pain. 

After a few minutes, when the worst had gone and had left only a dull throbbing in his hand, he started crying in earnest. He didn’t know if it was still the pain or the fear about his hand as he realized his injury was indeed more serious than he’d thought. 

Like Erik had told him. 

And then he cried because of Erik. He’d been _so happy_ just a couple of weeks ago, and now, somehow, _everything_ was falling apart.


	9. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a longer chapter! I'm posting this at a very late hour; I'll correct any mistakes in the morning. Hope you enjoy!

When Charles woke up the next morning after a fitful night, he found himself tangled in his sheets in a sweaty mess. For a moment - one blissful moment - he didn't realize what had caused it, but then reality crushed into him like a train. His hand. Shaw. Erik. _Erik_. His head was pounding and there was definitely something wrong with his eyes, for he could barely open them at all.

He managed to get to the bathroom, where he was pointedly not thinking about Erik, all wet and beautiful, and he looked in the mirror. He looked like shit. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot from all the crying he’d done. He briefly contemplated calling Raven, but - no. Just... _no_. This was something he needed to face alone. He'd seen his mother losing control gradually, whining endlessly to others, and he realized he needed to clean up this mess himself.

He splashed some cold water on his face and looked at himself, leaning heavily on the sink. _You can do this, Charles._

He called his doctor. Yes, she didn't make appointments on Saturdays, but with his name and money there was no problem at all for her to see him immediately. He could almost _see_ Erik rolling his eyes at that, but he quickly dismissed the image. If he wasn't to distract Erik, then Erik wasn't going to distract _him_ , dammit.

 _Control_. He was in control.

Except that he wasn't, not in this, and when he left the doctor's office that morning, knowing that if he wanted to save his hand from permanent damage, he wasn't to play for at least - _at least_ \- 8 weeks, he felt more alone than he'd ever felt before. Which was saying something. 

He wanted to call Raven - hell, who was he kidding, he wanted to call _Erik_ , but that just wasn't an option - but he needed to do something else first.

***

Charles paused in front of the door of the piano class. He was two hours early for his extra lesson, but he wasn't going to need it, anyway, and he wanted Erik to hear was he had to say to Shaw, as well. Through the door, he could hear Erik playing Rachmaninoff and Shaw barking some last minute instructions - the first round of the competition was tomorrow, after all. 

He realized that his hands were sweaty and he took a moment to collect himself, wiping them on his jeans. He couldn't change the things that had happened, but he could deal with the consequences. He _had_ to. He could do this. 

When Erik had played the last note of the Prelude - it had been impressive as always - Charles took a deep breath. Then he knocked on the door and let himself in. 

Erik's head snapped towards him and surprise crossed his features, before his eyes flicked towards the bandage that was wrapped tightly across Charles' hand. Something flashed across Erik's face, but it was gone so quickly that Charles was almost sure he'd imagined it. When Erik's eyes met his again, there was no expression whatsoever in them and his mouth was pursed into a thin line. 

It reminded Charles of the first time he'd seen Erik, sitting behind this very piano - only now he knew how utterly different Erik looked when he was happy or playful or aroused - and it _hurt_. 

Shaw cleared his throat. "Xavier. I'm sure you're not disturbing my lesson just to stare at Mr Lehnsherr, did you?"

Charles turned towards his teacher, then, refusing to blush. "Of course not," he said, aiming for pleasant. "I don’t mean to _distract_ you guys, I'll be out of your hair in a minute. I just came to tell you that I won't be needing my extra lesson, as I -" He held up his left hand. "Well, I think it's obvious." 

He threw the medical certificate he'd been holding onto the little table in front of Shaw, the gesture clashing with his polite tone. 

"I see," Shaw drawled. He was silent for a few seconds and only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. "So you really _are_ weak. It comes as no surprise, Xavier." He took the forms from the table and browsed them quickly, looking bored. 

"What?" Charles bristled. "I am not weak, I am _injured_. There’s a difference."

Shaw continued in a casual tone, as it he hadn't heard Charles at all. "You've always been weak, Charles." He looked up at him, then, and the sharp glint in his eyes could have cut glass. "Not only physically, I mean, but also emotionally."

"What?" Charles repeated, taken aback. 

"In music, emotion is your greatest strength, I'll give you that. You certainly need it, seeing as your technique is absolutely lacking. But-" Shaw smiled, but when he continued, his voice was dripping with malice. "In real life, your emotionality is your biggest weakness. It's why you've failed now, and why you'll always fail."

Charles' eyes sought Erik instinctively, but the other boy was still wearing the same stoic expression that made Charles want to scream. 

Shaw followed his look. "Yes, take Erik here. Not only are his hands still in working order, despite all the hours of practice, but he's also much more stable, emotionally." Shaw grinned. "At least he knows where his _priorities_ lie, Charles."

Charles was sure he saw Erik's poker face slip for a moment as his jaw tightened just the tiniest bit. Erik remained silent, though, and at that point Charles just hated the both of them with an intensity he'd never experienced before. He swallowed it down, though. Hate was the opposite of _control_. 

To his own surprise, he managed to react evenly. "Well, as I know you detest weakness, Sir, you'll be pleased to hear you won't have to see me again as your student. I quit."

If the man was surprised by his words, he managed to hide it well. "Of course," he answered. "Of course. You can afford a private tutor after all, don't you? I ought to be surprised you even came to me in the first place."

"You have a good reputation," Charles said. "Even though I can't fathom why. _Sir_."

He nodded towards Erik, then. "Good luck tomorrow, Erik." And he headed out without looking back, before he could see Erik's reaction - or, more likely, the lack thereof.

Only then, when he'd closed the door of the classroom behind him and he was walking through the hallway for the last time, did he call Raven. 

"Hi, Raven, it's me. I- I have a lot to tell you and a lot of time on my hands right now. Can I - can I come over?"

There was a squeal on the other side of the line and Charles held his phone further from his ear, wincing. "I'll take that as a yes," he said dryly after she'd finished. "Listen, I'm at the music school right now, I could come straight over?"

When he hopped on his bike and took off, the bleak sun of late autumn warming his face, he could almost imagine feeling alright again. _Almost_. 

***

When Charles arrived at the Darkholmes, he was greeted by Raven's mother, a gentle, round woman of whom he'd always been very fond. 

"Charles!" she exclaimed, smiling widely. "It's been such a long time! Raven told me you've been so busy practising for the competition, I'm so proud of you, dear! How's it - oh." Her gaze fell on his hand. "I see." 

Charles shrugged and felt his eyes suddenly go all watery, much to his surprise. 

"Oh, sweety." Raven's mom raked a hand through his hair affectionately. "Raven's in her room. You go on up, then."

Charles did. It had really been too long since he'd been there. Raven's room hadn't changed much, though. The walls were still way too bright - they reflected her sparkling personality, according to Raven. The only thing that _had_ changed were the movie posters that were adorning those headeache-inducing walls - then again, they changed just about every other month when Raven had a new idol she had to worship. 

Raven was sitting on her bed, mindlessly going through some girly magazine, when Charles entered. 

"Charles!" she yelled, not unlike her mother. She was beaming, but then she took in the look on his face and the bandage around his hand and her look turned worried. "Come here," she said softly, patting the bed next to her. 

Charles sat down and was immediately pulled into a hug. They stayed like that for several minutes. 

It was Raven who broke the silence. "Wanna talk about it?" 

"Yes," Charles croaked, untangling himself and sitting up. "Yes." And then he told her _everything_. Raven didn't interrupt him once, uncharacteristically.

When he'd finished, she was looking at him with compassion in her eyes. "Oh, Charles." She squeezed his good hand gently. She'd taken it in hers somewhere around the part where Shaw had threatened to expel him, and hadn't let go ever since. "Are you alright?"

"I... think so." When Charles said it aloud, he realized it was actually mostly true. "I'm... relieved that I won't have to see Shaw again. And I'm so happy that my hand is going to be ok, in time, and that I haven't actually ruined a potential career in music."

"What about Erik?" Raven asked, hesitantly. 

Charles sighed. "I don't know. I'm angry with him, and I don't understand him _at all_ , and I - I miss him so much, which is actually stupid, as we were only together for such a short time."

"You were great together, I think." Ok, that wasn't helping. "Don't you -" Raven cocked her head slightly. "Don't you think Shaw must have said something to him? Something that made him change so much?"

It had crossed Charles' mind, of course. "Yes. Maybe. But still -"

"So I take it you won't be at the competition tomorrow." Raven sounded resigned. 

Charles huffed. "No," he said. "Definitely not." He shook his head to emphasize his point. 

"But-"

"No, Raven," Charles interrupted her. "I know it'll seem petty of me, not coming to support Erik now that I can't participate myself, but - no. I can't. I'm just too angry with him."

Raven was silent. _That_ was a first. 

"Besides, he made it pretty clear he doesn't want me around."

Raven was still not saying anything. It was rather unsettling, really.

"It's bloody Rachmaninoff, Raven!" Charles threw up his hands. Well, one hand, at least. "He'll be great, I know he will."

"If you say so," Raven finally offered, looking thoughtful. 

"He _will_. And now-" Charles grinned. "I could really do with some distraction. Don't you have a new movie hunk you want to show me?"

Raven's whole demeanor changed in a second. "Yes! There's this _amazing_ actor that I-"

Charles didn't really listen to her, his mind was too caught up in other things. But when, a bit later, he was sitting on the couch in Raven's living room, watching some stupid movie with an incessantly talking and all but drooling Raven in his arms, he couldn't help thinking that everything was going to be ok. Somehow. If he could just keep on ignoring the emptiness in his heart that was aching almost as much as his hand still did.


	10. The final round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the delay - real life sucks sometimes. But here's the next chapter (and more will be coming soon)! I hope you enjoy!

“Oh, for the love of- ” Charles grimaced and tossed away the book he’d been trying to read for the last hour. He still hadn’t finished the prologue. 

He was running out of ideas of what to do, quite frankly. He’d been restless all day, going from pointlessly checking his Facebook account to making a snack he was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep down if he actually tried to consume it; and then from the umpteenth ‘Friends’ rerun to a book that would normally keep him engrossed for at least 5 hours. Not tonight, though. Nothing seemed to work tonight. 

_Not that anything was special about tonight_. Charles sighed. Who was he kidding? 

Erik had nailed the first round of the competition – as Charles had known he would. He’d been magnificent as usual when playing the Rachmaninoff prelude, and the audience had been enraptured by his interpretation and, Charles dared to presume, his utter presence on the stage. He’d even received a standing ovation. 

Not that Charles had been there to witness it, despite Raven’s incessant pleas. Any guilt he should probably feel about that, he’d been able to squash by his pride. 

But tonight – tonight was different. Not only was Erik playing in the final of the Clara competition, for crying out loud, he had also been assigned his study piece. The Butterfly Etude was way out of Erik’s comfort zone, Charles knew that better than anyone. 

Tonight, Charles wasn’t so sure about Erik’s chances. And despite the fact that he was still mad with Erik, he wasn’t so petty that he didn’t want him to win. He knew better than anyone how much Erik _needed_ to win. 

Just when he was about to check his Facebook for the tenth time that evening to check if _anyone_ had had something mildly interesting to report during the last twenty minutes, his phone started ringing. Charles’ hart skipped a beat and he looked at the cracked screen. Not Erik. Raven. 

“Yes?” He tried not to sound disappointed. 

“Charles?” Raven practically screamed in his ear. 

Charles rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course it’s me. What is it, Raven?”

Raven didn’t answer, but he could hear her breathing loudly in his ear. He suddenly felt uneasy. “Raven? What’s the matter?”

More breathing. 

“Are you hyperventilating on me?” It was a lame joke, he knew that. 

“No,” came the immediate answer. “But Erik is. You _have_ to come, Charles.”

 _What?_ “What? No!”

He could hear Raven curse on the other end of the line. “But you have to, Charles. It’s Erik, he’s - _crashing_ and – "

Charles suddenly felt nauseous, despite not having eaten anything that evening. “Raven, _no_ ,” he snapped. “Erik’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want me around him.”

“Charles, stop it!” Raven sounded very clear – and loud – all of a sudden. “Stop being so… childish, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m not the one being childish,” Charles bristled. “I have been –"

“I don’t care!” Raven yelled in his ear. “You don’t understand! I- _please_ , Charles, listen to me!”

Something in her voice made Charles swallow the words he was about to say. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest. “Alright. I’m listening.”

“Good. Finally.” Raven let out a nervous laugh. “Ok. So… He’s completely losing it, Charles. I mean, really losing it. He’s in one of the rehearsal rooms, and he won’t let anyone in, and he’s saying he’s not going to play tonight, and, and – I think he needs _you_ , Charles.”

Charles took a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable. “I understand what you’re saying, Raven, but – I doubt I’m the person that could help him right now, you know? He made it pretty clear that he does not want to see me, and –“ His mind was racing. “Maybe you could –"

“Of course he wants to see you!” Raven practically shouted. Then she added, in a softer voice: “It has always been you, Charles. From the day you guys met. He _needs_ you right now. I know what happened between you, but please, swallow your pride for the time being and get your lazy ass over here!”

Charles bit his lip. “I don’t know, Raven. I don’t think-"

“Do you trust me?” Raven interrupted him. 

“Of course I do.”

“Then trust me on this one, Charles. Without you, Erik _will_ loose the competition.”

Something clicked inside Charles’ head - _damn Raven for knowing him so well_. “Alright,” he nodded, and then promptly held the phone away from his ear while Raven was squealing. 

He checked the time. _18:50_. Still one hour and ten minutes until the beginning of the competition. “I’ll be there in 45 minutes,” he stated. Then he hung up and all but ran downstairs, towards the garage. It seemed like he would actually make use of his mom’s driver, for once. 

***

“Erik?” Charles knocked on the door of the rehearsal room Raven had directed him to.

There was no answer. 

Charles knocked again. “Erik? It’s me. Charles. Can I come in?”

Still no answer. 

“Right. I’m coming in,” Charles announced. He waited for another ten seconds and then slowly opened the door. The sight that greeted him threw him off balance for a moment. He’d secretly been hoping Raven had been exaggerating – she _did_ have a penchant for doing so – but as it turned out, she hadn’t been. At all. 

Erik was sitting on the piano stool, motionless, his head held in his two hands as if it were killing him. He was breathing heavily. He hadn’t even seen Charles come in. 

“Erik?” Charles said carefully. 

Erik’s head jerked up as if it were being pulled by a string. “Charles?” Disbelief crossed his features. “What are you-“ He gulped for air. “Why-"

“Shh,” Charles slowly walked towards Erik and crouched down beside him. “Don’t try to talk to much; it’ll only make it worse.” He felt a sudden calm come over him; he’d seen his mum having plenty of anxiety attacks and he knew exactly what he needed to do. “Raven called me,” he answered, looking Erik straight in the eye. “She told me you weren’t doing so great, so I came. And I can see that she was right.”

“But you- but we-“ There was sweat on Erik’s brow. 

Charles tried to smile reassuringly. “That doesn’t matter right now.” He slowly, ever so carefully, placed his hands over Erik’s trembling ones. “Do you trust me?” he asked, copying Raven’s earlier words. 

“Yes.” Erik looked scared and Charles wanted nothing more than the pull the other boy into his arms. He didn’t. 

“Ok. Then listen to me. You’re hyperventilating, which is scary as hell, but I know an easy trick to get out of it. Alright?”

Erik nodded. 

“You’re going to follow my breathing pattern now,” Charles explained, putting one of Erik’s hands on his chest. “It goes like this: we breathe in for three seconds, through our noses, and then out for six, through our mouths. Got it?”

“What –"

“Just do it, Erik. You’ll feel better immediately. Come on. Three in - six out.” Charles started to control his breathing, counting, mentally encouraging Erik to do the same thing. And indeed, after a while, Erik’s breating started to become more relaxed. 

“Better?” Charles asked. “No – don’t talk, keep breathing. Four times in now, eight times out. Follow my lead. 

Soon, Erik’s hand on his chest wasn’t trembling any more and he finally seemed to get out of the attack. “Where did you learn to do that?” Erik rasped after a while. He retracted his hand, and Charles tried to ignore the hurt that the loss of contact made him feel. Right now was _not_ a good time to think about his own feelings. This was about Erik. 

“I’ll tell you another time, ok? We have more urgent things to address, don’t you think?” Charles tried to smile, taking a few steps back. 

Erik nodded. His shoulders slumped. “What am I going to do?” he whispered. “I can’t –"

“No,” Charles interrupted him. “You _can_. Tell me what’s the problem.”

“I don’t…” Erik struggled to find the right words. “ _feel_ it anymore, Charles.”

“What exactly don’t you feel anymore?”

Erik make a strange sound, almost a sob. “The… damn butterflies!" he spat. "I- I don’t know, the… happiness, I guess.”

Charles thought for a moment. “Do you remember when you first came to my place? When you played the étude?”

Erik’s eyes flew up and met Charles’. There was warmth in them, and Charles suddenly felt his own eyes grow moist. “Of course I do,” Erik said. They looked at each other and the moment stretched. “You called me a machine,” he then added dryly. 

“When you recalled a happy memory, you didn’t sound like one,” Charles shot back. 

“Don’t you think I _tried_ that?” Desperation tinged Erik’s voice. “It doesn’t work anymore, Charles!”

“Then think about that night. Think about what you felt that night. How you -” Charles knew he was rattling, but he at this point he didn’t care. “Try to picture yourself there, and feel what you felt then."

“But we-" Erik’s voice cracked. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

At that point, there was a short knock on the door and a woman that Charles had never seen before, entered. “Lehn- Lehnsherr?” she asked in a casual voice. When Erik nodded, she looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. “You were drawn to go up fourth, so make sure you’re ready in twenty minutes. Good luck.”

When she’d closed the door, Erik’s nervosity was almost palpable. 

“I should go, I guess,” Charles said lamely. 

“Yes,” Erik answered. He looked utterly helpless and Charles couldn’t help himself; he crossed the short distance between them and threw his arms around the other boy. The sense of relief when he felt Erik reciprocating the embrace was overwhelming. 

“You can do this, Erik,” he whispered against Erik’s chest. “It’s in you, I’ve heard it. All you have to do is let it out.”

Erik didn’t answer; he just clung to him like a frightened child would. 

“I’ll be there, in the audience,” Charles continued. “Just- play for me. Like you did back then.” He felt Erik nod against his shoulder. “You can do this, Erik. Trust me.” He reluctantly pulled away and quickly left the room without looking back, because the last thing that Erik needed right now, was to see him struggle not to cry. 

***

When Charles silently entered the concert hall right before the second finalist’s performance, he was relieved that he could spot Raven and Hank immediately. They’d saved him a spot right in the front row, for which he was grateful, and there were about twenty people sitting in between him and Shaw, for which he was even more grateful. 

“How did it go?” Raven asked as soon as he was seated. 

The second finalist came up on the stage and Charles shook his head. “Later,” he whispered.

The girl, who was performing one of Poulenc’s “Trois pièces”, was good. Very good. And so was the third finalist. _But Erik’s better_ , Charles reminded himself while rubbing his sweaty hands against his thighs. 

Then the fourth finalist was announced and Erik came onto the stage. He was wearing some blue costume which he’d obviously borrowed from someone – the vest was way too big for someone with Erik’s posture – but to Charles, he looked outstanding. 

Erik bowed deeply, his eyes scanning the audience until they met Charles’, and then he took a seat on the piano stool. His eyes never left Charles’. 

Although nerves were coursing through his body, Charles smiled encouragingly and nodded, wishing he’d possess the power of telepathy. _Relax, Erik. You can do this. Let it come, you’ll be brilliant if you’ll let yourself be_. 

Erik closed his eyes and slowly put his hands on the keys. For a while he just sat there, immobile. From the corner of his eye Charles saw Shaw shift uncomfortably in his seat. Someone in the audience started to cough, and Charles felt the sudden urge to punch them in the face. 

Finally, Erik opened his eyes and took a breath. 

Then he started playing.


	11. Realization

When Erik started playing, Charles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

From the first, delicate notes that floated through the concert hall, though, he knew that Erik had been able to find his happiness somewhere. Erik’s large hands darted across the keys, seemingly without effort, with the same grace as a butterfly taking flight. The melody bounced happily and clearly throughout the huge hall. 

Charles closed his eyes and smiled. In the middle part he could practically hear the butterly get caught in a strong wind, struggling against it, before floating away undamaged to an easy landing. It was absolutely beautiful. 

In the deafening silence that followed the performance, Charles idly wondered if this could apply to the two of them as well – if they, too, would have their safe landing after all that had happened. 

When the audience started clapping, Charles was the first one to jump up, immediately followed by Raven and Hank. He was practically bursting with proud when he saw that many other people in the audience followed their lead. 

He looked up at Erik, who seemed to come out of his bubble. Erik was radiating joy, confidence and pride in equal measure – the mirror image of the scared boy who’d clung to Charles less than an hour ago. He stood up and bowed for the audience, practically beaming. 

At that moment, Charles suddenly saw things very clearly. Yes, Erik had held things from him, but maybe – maybe he’d had his reasons. Yes, they had fought, but maybe Charles hadn’t been very reasonable, either. All Erik had done, was ask him for some time. And Charles knew he had overreacted, feeling utterly useless due to his hand, and angry because of Shaw. 

_Shaw_. Their teacher had been manipulating the both of them for some time now, Charles was sure of that. He just hoped that the damage the man had done, wouldn’t be permanent. The need to talk to Erik was suddenly overwhelming. 

Up on the stage, Erik was grinning his toothy grin, and when that grin finally landed on him, Charles felt like he was being wrapped in a warm blanket. So he clapped until his right hand was hurting too much to continue – not for one minute noticing Raven who was smiling fondly at him. 

There was only Erik, and the very sudden, rather scary, realization that he was lost. He was _in love_ with Erik. And then he tried not to hyperventilate, himself. 

The fourteen other finalists that performed after Erik, couldn’t really spark his interest. They were good, there was no doubt about that, and Charles clapped politely for each and every one of them. There was only one thing on his mind, though. 

He needed to talk to Erik. Soon. 

***

As it turned out, Charles would have to wait. After the performances, the audience was ushered to the foyer while the jury was deliberating. So Charles went with the others, although he didn’t feel like socializing at all. 

Raven, on the other hand, as being her usual, sparkling self. “So, Erik was good, right?” she beamed, looking in her element between the mostly posh people in the foyer. “What did you _do_?”

“I _talked_ to him, Raven,” Charles sighed. “As you asked me to do.”

Raven frowned. “Are you ok? You want a beer or something? I can –”

“No!” Charles snapped. “You know I don’t drink.”

“I know, I know.” Raven held up her hands placatingly. “I just thought – you’re so – I wanted to –“ she stammered, looking a little lost. 

Charles raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Raven. You’re right, I’m so bloody _nervous_ and I- I just realized something tonight and I really need to talk to Erik and – and _not_ be here, and –"

Raven smiled. “So you finally caught up?” She looked utterly pleased. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, Charles.” Raven cocked her head, still smiling. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“How –" Charles looked at his friend, and it suddenly struck him how well she knew him, even when they hadn’t been seeing each other all that much during the last few months. He couldn’t resist the urge to pull her into a tight hug. “You’re the best friend in the world, you know that, don’t you?” he said hoarsely. 

The stood there for the longest time, not needing to say anything more. Then, over Raven’s shoulder, Charles saw Hank approaching. He had a sour look on his face. 

“Hey guys,” Hank said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your moment, but do you want to drink something? I don’t know for how long they’ll be deliberating, but –"

“Yes, Hank,” Charles smiled, gently letting go of his friend. “I’d like a coke, thanks. And Raven wants a beer.” He rolled his eyes. 

When Hank had left for the bar, he looked Raven in the eye. “Thank you. I meant what I said. And –" he hesitated. 

“And what?” Raven asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Maybe if you’d stop looking at your movie posters for more then ten minutes, you could see love standing right in front of you, too.”

“What?” Raven looked flabbergasted. “ _Who_?” 

Charles laughed. “You’re so thickheaded sometimes, Raven. Hank!”

Raven shook her head, obviously thinking he’d gone completely mad with nerves. “I’ve already, you know, kind of propositioned him, and he made it very clear that he doesn’t want to sleep with me, Charles.” She looked kind of disappointed. “I thought you’d remember that.”

“Oh, I remember. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to sleep with you, Raven,” Charles said softly. “At least not yet.”

Raven looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I think he’d like to date you first. Get to know you, before you, you know, do… _other_ things. He seems like the type.” Charles thought the look on his friend’s face hilarious. “He’s completely head over heels for you, you stupid!”

At that point Hank reached them, stumbling only slightly with the three glasses in his hand. He looked from Raven, whose mouth was hanging open just slightly, to Charles. “Everything ok here?”

“Yes,” Charles said, talking his drink from Hank’s hands. “Thank you, Hank.” And then he went to the balcony for some fresh air, giving his Raven and Hank some much-needed time to talk. 

While standing outside in the cold, sipping from his coke, Charles felt his nerves return tenfold. “ _Please, let him win_ ”, he said to no one in particular. _And please, let him want to talk to me afterwards_ , he silently added. 

Then he heard the beeping sound calling the audience back to the concert hall for the proclamation of the winners. Charles felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He left his glass, which was still half full, on the balcony and went back inside. 

This was it. The moment both he and Erik had been waiting for – and working towards – for months, was here. 

***

When a very important looking woman came up onto the stage and started speeching, Charles could have groaned in frustration. She went on and on about the prestige of the Clara competition, what it meant for the world of classical music in general and for the winners in particular, and about the life and merits of female composer Clara Schumann. By the time she’d finished, Charles felt practically nauseous. 

After about twenty minutes she finally - _finally_ \- announced the proclamation of the winners. Charles closed his eyes and felt Raven take his left hand. He squeezed it, maybe a little too hard, if her wince was anything to go by. 

“There’s no denying that each and every performer in this competetion can be considered one of the future top piano players in this country. There are two musicians, though, that we believe stood out from the rest, today.” The presenter smiled and opened the envelope she was holding. 

The audience was dead still. 

The woman smiled, clearly enjoying the attention. “This year’s runner up is Evy Jones, for her ‘Toccata’ from Poulenc’s ‘Trois Pièces’!”

The crowd cheered and Charles cheered with them, knowing that the girl really deserved this. He just wished the damn woman would get on with it. 

“And the winner of this year’s Clara competition is someone who we feel is both technically and emotionally outstanding,” the presenter continued. “Please give your applause for… mister Erik Lehnsherr, for Chopin’s ‘Butterfly Etude’!”

 _She actually pronounced his name right_ , was Charles' first thought. Then Raven started clapping and the reality of the situation suddenly dawned on him. Erik had done it. He’d really done it. 

So he jumped up, clapping and cheering and even catcalling, bursting with happiness. 

The next moment he saw Erik being ushered onto the stage. The woman handed over the winner’s certificate, which he took graciously, and then pulled him in front of the microphone. Erik struggled for a moment to adjust the height and then looked into the audience, practically radiating joy. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” Erik said clearly. 

When the cheering had calmed down, he continued. “Thank you for the opportunity to take place in this competition. There are so many good musicians out there and I – well, I’m just one of them. I know of many other performers who could – and should – stand here right know, but – well, it’s me.” He grinned. “And I can’t say I’m not absolutely thrilled about that."

Most people in the audience laughed. Charles was one of them. 

“But I didn’t do this on my own.” Erik looked serious all of a sudden. “I’d like to acknowledge my teacher, Sebastian Shaw.” He nodded in the general direction of Shaw. The audience started clapping politely. 

Erik cleared his throat rather loudly, cutting short the applause. “But most of all,” he continued, “I want to thank my friend Charles, who was the only one who actually _taught_ me anything this year.” 

The hall fell silent all of a sudden. Charles’ eyes flew from Erik to Shaw, who was looking at the same time murderous and ready for the ground to swallow him up, and then back to Erik. _What on earth was Erik doing?_

Erik held up the certificate, looking him straight in the eye. “Thank you, Charles. I couldn’t have done this without you.”


	12. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely happy with this, but I've been working on this for ages and I just had to let it go. Let me know what you think! :-)

After the final round of applause people started leaving the hall one by one, but Charles didn't even notice. He just sat there, glued to his seat, in complete shock. 

_What had just happened?_

Raven picked up her coat, which she'd haphazardly thrown on the floor, and cleared her throat. “Charles?” She was practically beaming. “He _won_ , you know. You can relax now.”

Her words didn't even reach Charles. He was too busy staring at the place behind the microphone where Erik had just been standing, still trying to wrap his mind around what Erik had just done. 

Raven sighed. “Charles, come on. Are you scared about you and Erik? You don't need to be, you know, he just declared his love for you right on the stage, so-”

 _That_ made Charles snap right out of it. “He did no such thing,” he snarled. “He thanked a friend for helping him, that's all. ”

Raven looked at him like he was an obtuse child. “Yeah, right,” she mumbled. Then she grinned. "Did you see the look on Shaw's face? I thought he was going to go up onto the stage and strangle Erik – but god, did he deserve it after what he did to you, he's an abominal teacher–”

 _Shaw_. Charles' eyes shot towards Shaw's seat, only to find it empty. He suddenly got a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“Where is he?” Charles interrupted Raven, jumping up. 

“Erik?” Raven looked startled. “I don't know, he's probably-”

Charles felt his throat close. “No, _Shaw_. I- Something's not right, Raven. I need to go and find-”

“Hey, guys?” Hank interrupted shyly, pushing his glasses up his nose like he always did when he was nervous. “You want to ride home together?” he asked, pointedly _not_ looking at Charles. 

In other circumstances, Charles would have teased Raven and maybe wished the pair of them a pleasant night, but at this point he couldn't care less about their histrionics. “No, you guys go ahead,” he said in a clipped voice. “I need to go and find Erik.” 

Raven looked worried. “Are you sure? We can wait." 

"No." Charles started making his way through the seats. “Goodbye, Raven.” 

He left the hall without looking back, a sense of urgency coming over him. He started running. 

***

When Charles reached the rehearsal room Erik had been in earlier, he found the door was ajar and agitated voices were coming from the room. It was as he'd feared: Shaw had immediately gone and confronted Erik – Charles would have recognized those voices anywhere. 

Something inside him stopped him from immediately barging in, though. He waited and listened, trying to steady his breath so they wouldn't hear him panting. 

“You can't do that!” Erik was shouting. “I kept my end of the deal, didn't I?”

 _Deal? What deal?_

“I did everything you asked of me,” Erik continued. “I stopped seeing Charles and I fucking _won_ the competition, as you wanted me to.”

“Come on, Lehnsherr. You're not still going on about that little shit Xavier, are you?” He let out an unpleasant laugh. “Be realistic for once, boy. Not even someone as naive as Xavier will want to associate with the likes of you when he finds out what you really are. And I _will_ make sure that he does, you can be sure of that.”

“But you promised,” Erik muttered, sounding desperate. “You promised to leave me alone after I'd won this thing. I'd get the certificate, my career, my freedom, and you'd get the prestige that comes with... being the teacher of a Clara winner.” 

“Oh, Erik,” Shaw hissed. He continued in a low voice and Charles had to lean even closer to the door to be able to overhear. “That was before you decided to humiliate me in front of my colleagues. You did the wrong thing, once again.” Charles could practically hear Shaw bare his teeth. 

“I did as you asked,” Erik repeated slowly. “I did everything you asked.”

“Let me tell you what you are, Lehnsherr. You're _thug_.” Shaw spat out the word. “You might have won the competition, but you will always be thug.”

“But-”

“You _listen to me_!” Shaw suddenly shouted and Charles practically yelped in surprise, almost giving away his position. “You've set your future for yourself, a long time ago. And no Clara certificate is going to change that, do you understand? And you've got way bigger problems than Xavier, trust me!”

“What do you mean?” Erik sounded scared to death. 

Shaw laughed. “You want me to spell it out for you? Alright. Tomorrow, you'll no longer be my student, I will make sure of that. And you haven't forgotten what will happen if you're longer under my tutelage, I assume?” The words sounded awfully familiar to Charles. 

Erik was silent. 

“You'll go to jail, Lehnsherr.” Shaw sounded utterly pleased. “Certificate or no, the law is still the law. You'll get what you deserved in the first place.”

_Jail? What on earth –_

“You told me this would change everything!” Erik's voice broke. “You- liar! You deserved what I implied out there, you're a -”

A loud slapping sound reverbarated from the rehearsal room and Charles' heart skipped a beat. Erik had actually _hit_ Shaw. _Gods, no._

Charles barged into the room without thinking, but, caught up as they were in their fight, neither Erik nor Shaw noticed him. 

What Charles saw, was not at all the scene he'd been expecting, though. Erik was cradling his reddening cheek in his hand, recoiling from Shaw, and the reality of what had just happened dawned on him.

_Shaw_ had hit _Erik_ , not the other way around. 

“You-” Erik breathed, but he was immediately reduced to silence. 

Shaw grabbed a fistful of Erik's hair and pulled him closer. The grin he gave Erik positively belonged in a scary movie. “I know what you're about to say. And before you say it, let me ask you: who will believe this ever happened? Who will believe _you_ over me? A juvenile offender versus a respected teacher?” he spat. 

_Juvenile offender?_ Charles gasped and both Erik and Shaw's faces snapped towards him.

Shaw immediately let go of Erik. “Ah, from the look on your _ex_ 's face, I take it you didn't tell him about your past. You really make a mess everywhere you go, don't you, Lehnsherr?”

Charles' eyes flew from Erik to Shaw. No, he had no idea what going on, but he _did_ know that what he'd just seen was plain wrong. 

He mentally took a deep breath and turned towards Shaw. “You're right.”

Shaw smiled triumphantly. 

“You're right, because I don't know what's going on, no. But you're also wrong,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You're wrong, because people _will_ believe Erik when he tells the truth about you. He does have a witness, you see.”

Shaw cocked his head as if trying to measure him up. “You wouldn't,” he said. 

Inwardly Charles was dying, but he knew he had to press the matter, if he wanted to have any chance at intimidating Shaw. “Oh, I would. You just hit a student, and I don't think even a teacher with the _prestige of having a Clara winner_ would get away with that.” 

Charles gave Shaw a moment to let it sink in that Charles had been there for quite some time. Much to his delight, he saw Shaw pale once the point had come across. 

_Check_. 

“You're bluffing,” Shaw tried, visibly trembling. 

“Bluffing?” Charles laughed, pointedly looking at his right hand, “I don't think I've got anything to loose at this point. _Sir_. And I think you realize that I've got the means and the connections to do much more than bluff.” He hated to bring this up in front of Erik, but at this point he was ready to fight with any means possible. 

Shaw stared at Charles for a moment, as if trying to seize him up. “I've got connections as well, Xavier. I'm quite capable of ruining your career.”

Charles smiled, oozing what he hoped looked liked confidence. “ _I_ haven't got any career as a performing artist, Shaw. As you're well aware of. And as for Erik – you _really made mess there_ yourself, didn't you?” 

Shaw's look could have killed, but then he ushered himself out of the room, bumping Charles' shoulder hard in the process. 

Charles closed his eyes in relief. _Checkmate_. 

***

When Shaw had left, silence stretched between him and Erik. Adrenaline was coursing through his body and for some reason, he burst out in a fit of laughter. 

He looked up at Erik, shaking. “Can you believe,” he tried to say in between giggles, “can you believe that _I_...” He put his hands on his stomach, which was starting to hurt from laughing. “that _I_ actually scared away _Shaw_ ”? 

He knew he probably looked like he was having a nervous breakdown, but he then he noticed the smile tugging at the corner of Erik's mouth and suddenly, he didn't mind so much. 

His laughter appeared to be contagious, for Erik couldn't help but join him. “Can you – Could you-" Erik stuttered, giggling, “believe that _I_ actually won this thing?” 

“We rule!” Charles shouted. “We're positively glorious!”

Erik wiped the tears out of the corner of his eyes, laughing like a madman. “We are! We-” And then he was hiccoughing, and Charles didn't know if Erik was still laughing or crying. 

Well, _that_ made him calm down. 

“Erik,” he said, suddenly dead quiet. 

“Yeah?” Erik didn't even try to conceal the tears which were, indeed, running down his cheeks. 

“Do you want to go to my place? Just to... sleep, you know. Or do you need to be... well, where you live?” He didn't want to think about where that was, after what he'd heard earlier. 

Erik's face clouded over. “I don't, actually. I've got this night off because of the competition.” He wiped clumsily at his cheeks. “I should probably tell you-”

“Not now, Erik,” Charles interrupted him gently, shaking his head. “This is _your_ night, you – you should be celebrating, for god's sake!”

Erik snorted. “I don't feel like celebrating, to be honest.”

“Yes, Shaw does have a tendency to spoil things,” Charles replied dryly. “But – you'll come? With me?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. 

“You... You'd let me sleep at your place?” Erik stared at him incredulously. “You'd let me come, knowing that I-” His voice was tinged with self-disgust and Charles just couldn't let him finish that sentence. 

“Knowing that you're Erik.” Charles interrupted. “Erik. My friend.” 

Erik stared at him and Charles looked away, suddenly insecure. “I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, but you need to sleep, and you... could come with me, if you'd like,” he finished lamely. “Just to sleep, you know. But if you don't want to-”

“I'll come,” Erik said. He looked drained, all of a sudden. 

Charles let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. “Let's go, then. Let's get some sleep.” 

While they were making their way through the hallways of the huge building, both lost in their own thoughts, Erik suddenly touched his shoulder and stopped. “Charles.”

“Yes?” Charles turned towards the other boy. The intensity of Erik's stare caught him off guard, just like it had done so many times since they'd met. 

“I can't believe people like you exist. I can't believe _you_ exist.” Erik sounded horse. “And I can't believe you're here, with me, after all that's happened.” He didn't let go of his shoulder. 

Charles felt a myriad of emotions coursing through his body – joy and pride, confusion, affection, doubt, attraction, _love_ – and he couldn't help himself. He reached up and gently touched his lips to Erik's. 

Then Erik was kissing him back, and despite everyting, it felt like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who want to listen to the - wonderful - pieces: 
> 
> Erik's Bach: [ Bach fugue N°9 in E major, WTC 1 (skip to 1:23 for the fugue)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTed-Q0S8Jw)
> 
> Chopin: [Chopin Etude Op.25 N°9](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRIS5ABtQbM)
> 
> Rachmaninoff: [Rachmaninoff Prelude Op.3 N°2 (imagine Erik at 2:49 :-))](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCm9O2KNEX4&nohtml5=False)
> 
> Charles' Bach: [Bach fugue in G sharp minor, WTC 1 (skip to 1:15 for the fugue)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucA5c8Yioyk)
> 
> Schubert: [Schubert sonata in A minor, Op.42 D 845](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-qg3X_d7Ak)
> 
> Moszkowski: [Moszkowski Etude in A-flat minor, Op.72 N°13](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmTDTXHUewM)
> 
> Story will be updated regularly. Please let me know what you think! :-)


End file.
